I guess I’ve explored this far, you think. I’m sure the dragon can wait.

You close the cage door and press the button indicating the lowest level.

The elevator car moves slowly, deliberately, past several floors until reaching the bottom. It arrives with a soft thud, but you can barely see a thing. You retrieve your cell from your pocket, load the flashlight app, leave the elevator car, and look around.

The ceiling appears to be very high, and the space is cavernous, so only small pieces of the puzzle can be seen at any one time—two large French doors to the left and right; a handful of Victorian armchairs in red fabric; a deep mahogany and long curve of a large desk; black, wrought iron light fixtures eight feet up on the walls.

You find a light switch against one of the walls, and activate it.

You had begun to make the assumption, based on the glimpses seen with your cell phone flashlight, that this must be some sort of lobby. But you aren’t prepared for the breathtaking design and elegance revealed by the full lights. The walls are painted in regal reds and browns, which explain why your cell phone’s light had been so ineffective against the dark. Deep, rich elaborate molding adorns every angle between floor, walls, ceiling, and doorways. Tasteful gold accents are embedded in the concierge desk, the visitors chairs, and even the floor tile.

But what holds your attention, more than any other feature of this impossible place, are the large, gold, gothic letters dead center on the wall before you, proudly declaring the name of where you had ended up:

T H E    E A T O N

I’m in some sort of historic underground hotel, you realize. How is this possible?

You’re inexplicably reminded of an incident in your childhood. A neighborhood bully, Frankie, had tried to get you to enter an old abandoned house at the end of your street. He had insisted it was amazing inside, with gold trim on the walls and velvet furniture, “just like a fancy hotel!” Frankie had claimed he had been there several times, and you could be one of the very few who knew the secret.

You hadn’t trusted him. You had been scared. And he had called you a chicken when you refused.

You’re not sure why this memory came to you, and you try to snap out of it. But behind a nearby doorway, you hear the words you’d spent your adolescence wishing to never hear again.

“Cluck. Cluck. Cluck.”

Continue to reveal your fate!